Because I Can
by ichigatsu
Summary: Kind of a PWP. When there are no words, what else is left? Draco/Ron slash.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Warning: this story contains slash. You know what to do.  
  
  
  
Because I Can  
  
"You would think that after six years of studying in the same institution, the two of you would learn how to be civil to each other!"  
  
An insult tossed out, a punch thrown, a full-blown fight before Professor McGonagall. Blah, blah, blah, blah. Another day in the life of Ron Weasley.  
  
Here I am, stuck with Draco Malfoy in detention. It's a wonder this hasn't happened before. I suppose it's because for the first time in my stay at Hogwarts, Hermione and Harry weren't there to hold me back.  
  
So now Professor McGonagall has locked us in this tiny, deserted classroom. The both of us have been here since the fight, right after dinner. And we will be together two hours more.  
  
The catch? We are seated beside each other. And we are not allowed to talk. Not a single word. Professor McGonagall has set up some sort of charm to signal her the minute one of us speaks, and she has promised us that much, much worse will come if the charm summons her here before the allotted time. Suspension? Expulsion? We don't know. But what we do know is we don't want it.  
  
She knows the two of us far too well. It's killing me sitting here, with my swollen lip and cut cheek, and not being able to get Malfoy back in some way. I'm sure it's killing him, too, by the way he's glaring at me. Then again, it's hard to tell if he really is glaring or what, or if it's just an effect of his black eye.  
  
Professor McGonagall was right-I really ought to have learned by now. Harry and Hermione never mind Malfoy any more; why can't I?  
  
Perhaps it's because he always minds me.  
  
He's certainly minding me now; that black eye of his can't disguise the fact that he's staring at me. Stop it, I want to say. Get your eyes off me, you slimy git, or I'll tear them out. You have no right to look at me that way, so why don't you quit it before I hurt you.  
  
But I can't. So I do the next best thing. I stare back.  
  
Our gazes are locked. Steely silver on icy blue. A little imp laughs in my head; if it weren't for the sneers on our faces, one would think we were lovers.  
  
Lovers. Ha.  
  
Minutes pass by, both of us unblinking. Then his gaze wanders to my neck, lingers slightly on my mouth, travels to my hair, and goes back to my eyes. But his face does not change.  
  
Well. Two can play at that game.  
  
I divert my attention from his eyes, trying to ignore that little gleam of triumph?  
  
disappointment? and fixate on ears. Seashell-shaped, they are. Rather tiny for such a big head. Pale and tinged with pink, like the rest of him.  
  
His chin. Rather pointy, but it suits him, makes him look a bit elfin. Not the house kind, though. The skin on it, the skin all over his face, is absolutely poreless, like a vampire.  
  
How does he like this? Hmmm? Am I making him squirm yet?  
  
His mouth. He was born with a jelly-lips hex, I swear to God. Always moving, always morphed into some shape normal lips shouldn't have. Right now it's twisted into a puzzled grimace-I suppose he's wondering what I'm doing looking at him like that. After all, his examination of me lasted just a few minutes. I, on the other hand, am spinning this out. I'm milking it for all it's worth.  
  
I look back into his eyes, and to my surprise, they are no longer cold, but wide and darkened. And before I know what's truly happening, he leaps out of his chair, throws me out of mine, and pins me to the floor.  
  
We know the rules. There can be no words.  
  
His hands are curled tightly around my wrists, and that mouth of his has now morphed into a triumphant grin. I can't say anything, and the only comfort I have is that he can't say anything either.  
  
Then he lowers that mouth onto my cut cheek.  
  
His tongue-I haven't seen it, but from what it feels, it must be catlike. Slender, pointed, long.  
  
And incredibly, incredibly skilled.  
  
I should push him away, I know I should. But I cannot tell him no, I cannot tell him stop, and I don't want to.  
  
If this weren't Malfoy, I would be thoroughly enjoying this.  
  
Then that same imp in my head whispers that because it's Malfoy, I'm enjoying it even more.  
  
He has loosened his grip on my wrists, and is gently caressing them, all the while kissing me all over my face. Lips brushing my brow. On my cheek. On my chin.  
  
Then his mouth on my mouth, eager, demanding. I yield, parting my lips and letting that tongue claim me.  
  
Forever, it seemed, that mouth on mine.  
  
And all the while his hands were roaming all over my body, getting themselves tangled in my hair, then his arms wrapping around me and pulling me closer as if we were drowning and I was the only thing in this godforsaken world that could save him.  
  
It's impossible for two people to be any closer, unless…no. Would we be able to do that now?  
  
I wrap my legs around his. If he stood up he would take me with him. I kiss his ears, those lovely little seashell ears, swirl my tongue on and around and behind. Slowly. Then quick, darting swipes. Then I take his lobe between my lips and worry it like a sugar quill.  
  
I feel his body hitch, and I pull away, looking at him questioningly. He shakes his head. He has bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood.  
  
I smooth back his hair, gently cup his face, and kiss those bloody lips. He gives a little moan, but makes no other sound. He cannot.  
  
My hands have found the fastenings on his robes and I'm about to attack them, when he grabs my hands and pushes them away. He shakes his head again. And before I can look another question, he presses closer to me, his erection against mine, and we are rubbing against each other madly. I have bitten my own lip to keep from crying out; I can taste my own blood.  
  
If he doesn't do something more I will go mad. I arch up towards his body, but he doesn't respond in kind. Instead, he stays absolutely still, on top of me. He kisses me once more, on the forehead, and then with one smooth, fluid motion, removes himself from me.  
  
He is back in his chair, looking as if nothing had happened, and I am still on the floor.  
  
I hear footsteps outside; I stand up just in time to see Professor McGonagall open the door.  
  
"Time's up, boys. I hope this little interlude has, at the very least, taught you not to launch into each other under my very nose. Mr. Malfoy, to your dorm with you. Mr. Weasley, I shall walk back with you to Gryffindor Tower, so as you don't get into any more trouble tonight."  
  
The professor has grabbed me by the shoulders and is pushing me out the door, not too unkindly. We are on our way down the stone corridor; I can hear Draco's feet shuffling in the opposite direction. I slip away from Professor McGonagall's grip and call out to him,  
  
"Why?"  
  
He turns around, smiles, and says,  
  
"Because I can."  
  
Author's Note: Traditionally, a kiss on the forehead is a sign of respect. 


End file.
